


earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone

by sweettasteofbitter



Series: when in the springtime of the year [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweettasteofbitter/pseuds/sweettasteofbitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking over her shoulder, the warmth of the bed beckons her. She could just slip back, underneath the covers, against the inviting warmth of Josephine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone

A white world greets Cassandra when she opens the curtains. The snow, which has started to come down overnight, is still falling steadily against the grey backdrop of the sky. Flakes are lifted by sharp gusts of mountain air before they are allowed to settle over the earth like a blanket.

Today, the weather will do its best to disturb the daily life at Skyhold.

Healers will have a hard time keeping their patients warm and get to add frostbite to their list of most-treated injuries, while kitchen maids will slip on the outside stairs after feeding leftovers to the inhabitants of the stables. Merchants won’t venture to travel in this weather and commerce will be seriously dented for a few days.

Cassandra rejects the idea of using a blizzard as perfect weather condition to practice her footing for regions such as Emprise du Lion, where the frozen snow is slippery in some places, deep and unreliable as quick sand in others, and adds yet another level of difficulty beyond Red Templars and Great Bears. There is no use trying to perform her usual routine of practice exercises in this weather; slipping on treacherous snow would be one likely result, bruising at least one limb in the process another…and that only describes the least unfortunate scenario. It is one thing to know that her role as a warrior comes with serious risks, but it is another thing to be reckless when there's absolutely no need to be.

And so, Cassandra decides, there will be no excessive outdoor excercices today.

Instead, she could simply get dressed, go out, and make a round to stretch her legs. Yet, even just taking a walk would not be a viable option if she prefered - as she does - to keep a steady but undisturbed pace, since it is just as likely that she’ll get caught in the crossfire of a snowball fight, or worse, let the culprits convince her to join in. She is not letting that happen (again).

Looking over her shoulder, the warmth of the bed beckons her. She could just slip back, underneath the covers, against the inviting warmth of Josephine.

It is not exactly _cold_ in the room; there are no drafts in here like there are in many other parts of the main hold, and the stone is thick and keeps in most of the warmth when the fire in the hearth has been reduced to a few glowing embers. Without fire, these chambers would undoubtedly be less bearable to sleep in.

Josephine, sitting up on the bed with her knees drawn to her chest and covers pulled up to her chin protectively, rubs the last remnants of sleep out of her eyes before squinting at the scenery beyond the window.

“Are my eyes betraying me, or is that snow? _Again?_ ”

“It is,” Cassandra confirms, and Josephine’s squint turns into a frown.

“I think I am going to stretch out my morning ritual for as long as I can today,” Josephine says, not moving an inch underneath her stronghold of blankets. The room might not be cold by Cassandra’s standards, but Josephine is Antivan. When it gets ‘cold’ in Antiva, people simply take their laundry inside and close their windows. How stark is the contrast with the Frostbacks, where waterfalls freeze, earth becomes impenetrable for months on end, and fingers grow numb while noses grow red.

Josephine continues: “I imagine few dignitaries will make it to the Skyhold gates in this weather, as they will be held up in the valley. I will still need to delegate, of course, but neither runners nor birds will travel very quickly today, so my schedule will mainly consist of written correspondence. Ah, that reminds me…” Josephine wiggles her fingers before putting them to her lips pensively, but she does not elaborate on the mental note she has just made.

 “What’s wrong?” Cassandra asks. She is observant enough to see that the longer Josephine stares at the snowfall, the deeper her frown grows, eventually causing wrinkles to appear in her forehead and nose.

Cassandra would never deign to admit that she thinks rather fondly of the way Josephine scrunches her nose, because it is unseemly of herself, but definitely also most unbecoming of Josephine’s dignity.

( _“Ah, yes, the Ambassador of the Inquisition, who singlehandedly prevented the escalation of a war a few months ago, has an adorable nose. You should see her when she’s agitated, it’s beautiful.”_ )

Josephine takes a deep breath.

“All right. If you must know, I do not like the cold, just as little as I like the snow. In spite of that, I have spent at least two thirds of my time in the Inquisition up in the mountains. Cold, _snow covered_ mountains. At least Skyhold is more accommodating than Haven, especially when it comes to the warm water supply, but even if I decide to wash my hair here, the strands turn into icicles if I take one step outside,” Josephine sighs dramatically, not being above her native country’s flair for antics.

To her credit, Josephine does not complain often, especially not when she is under the scrutiny of the public eye and ear. It is always so surprising to hear her say something unambiguously negative related to the Inquisition that Cassandra never knows how to react, and this time it’s no different.

She listens to Josephine’s harmless tirade with mild - but hidden - amusement, until it becomes too much. Josephine does look rather comical, with her hair in post-sleep disarray and her indignant expression peeking out above a tangle of wool and linen. Never one for subtlety, Cassandra’s sudden grin is wide and unstoppable.

“You are laughing at me!” Josephine huffs.

Cassandra bites her lip. “I cannot deny that.”

Josephine makes a weak protesting sound and falls back onto her pillow, taking along the heap of blankets she has covered herself with.

“I am sorry, I know I am in no position to complain so much, seeing as the circumstances in places you visit with the Inquisitor are much direr, and my grievances seem so petty in comparison,” she says, rubbing her feet together underneath the covers. “In my defense, I really _do_ get quite cold. My feet especially.”

“I could help,” Cassandra says, approaching the bed. “I’m no stranger to cold feet.”

“You? Who would’ve thought,” Josephine teases.

“That is not what I meant. I have poor circulation - a legacy of old injuries. I could warm your feet for you, if you like.”

“Hmm,” Josephine says. “That sounds quite agreeable, but that also means I will have to get rid of these blankets.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Josephine seems to ponder that for a moment, but eventually she discards her covers. She shivers.

“Quickly, then.”

Cassandra sits down on the bed and takes Josephine’s feet in her lap. They _are_ quite cold to the touch, so she sets to her task with a diligence that only seems natural to her; this, too, she will do with all her heart.

First she rubs one foot between her hands, and then another, as though she’s kindling a fire. She tries to keep the blood running in the cold toes, and smiles when they wriggle under her touch. By the time she starts pressing her thumbs into the soft pads at the soles of Josephine’s feet, Cassandra is certain that increasing the temperature is no longer a factor in what she’s doing; she continues simply because she enjoys this.

“Better?” she asks when some time has passed.

“Much better.” Josephine gives her a drowsy smile from her pillow, hands behind her head.

“Good,” Cassandra says, and stops, lest she would be responsible for Josephine falling asleep again. She gazes out of the window, but the sky hasn’t cleared yet, and it doesn't look like this is going to change any time soon.

In any case, it’s too late to be up early now.

Cassandra looks back at Josephine, at the way her hair frames her face and the shape of her shoulders in her nightgown, and suddenly her fingers itch to reach out, to have, to hold.

Could she even use the weather as an excuse to have some extra alone time with Josephine? It’s not often they can indulge in the luxury of a lie-in, after all. The practical side of her tells her there are at least a dozen more useful, cause-furthering tasks to do, but it would be a lie to say she would rather be doing those things than, well, _this_.

As though Josephine is aware of Cassandra’s struggle (truthfully, she might very well be), she holds out her hands, and it’s all she needs to do to persuade Cassandra to stay. Pulling the covers around the two of them, Cassandra crawls back into bed.

Josephine’s feet may have been cold, but the rest of her is warm, and soft, and very inviting indeed. Cassandra kisses the side of her neck, her jaw, then hovers above her mouth, possibly teasing herself more than Josephine. The kiss that follows is unhurried, undemanding.

Cassandra leans back and sees the wrinkle in Josephine’s nose has retured, so she treats herself by pressing her mouth against it. When she speaks again it is far from a declaration of love, yet her voice trembles with gentle happiness, because she counts herself fortunate beyond compare to have this, here, now.

“Tell me,” she says. “How much were you planning on stretching your morning ritual?”

“Hmm, good question,” Josephine says, before rolling onto her side and tucking herself underneath Cassandra’s chin. “I cannot say I had a precise planning in mind, but I think I could afford to keep the world at bay for another hour, if you would be so kind to indulge me and stay precisely where you are.”

"With you?" Cassandra smiles into Josephine's hair. "Always."

So she stays.

It is no hardship, with Josephine’s contented breaths against her neck and the knowledge that the warmth in her blood is not caused by the mere element of fire or the layers of fabric that cover them, but by something entirely more human. And with the storm raging on outside, Cassandra can say that she doesn’t regret staying, not at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the poem In the Bleak Midwinter by Christina Rossetti.


End file.
